Criticism Requested 2:
Ann's beginning of a Historical Novel.
Ann writes.....
I should be
grateful for any comments from scribblers.
Historical novel
The wind was sighing through the rigging and the large square sail buffeted and filled, carrying the huge vessel across the silvery sea. Edwin tugged his cloak tightly around himself, and leaning on the starboard rail, gazed into the darkness. The moon had risen and was reflected in the water, its image changing and distorting in the swell, which ran under the wooden hull. Edwin wondered if Matilda could see this same moon and whether she thought of him. Soon they would complete their crossing of the great northern ocean and then there could be no time for such reverie. He wondered if he would ever return. Did he dare hope that eventually he might return to the gentle lands of Suffolk.
The sky had cleared and the stars shone brightly, their brilliance dimmed only occasionally when light spilled from the fo’c’s’l as the curtain slung from the fore deck swung gently in the breeze. No lights shone on the sides of the vessel that would inform the enemy of their position. He could hear the sounds of muted voices. Men were playing cards. Gambling with the few groats that they had left from the final evening's visit to the local tavern. Only a few of the sixty oarsmen were in position. Their oars were muffled so as not to alert the enemy of their approach. By the light of the moon, Edwin could see the other ships in the fleet, which had set out twenty-four hours earlier from the estuaries of the Deben and the Orwell.
Soon they would be in sight of the coast of Flanders and perhaps catch a first glance of the French Fleet, but at this moment all seemed so peaceful. Most of the archers were asleep, huddled in their cloaks on the deck and clutching their longbows to their chests, even as they slumbered. There would be little opportunity for rest soon enough. As he looked over his shoulder Edwin could see the steersman, a burly giant of a man, carefully holding the ship on course. Edwin had never sailed on a ship of this size before and he enjoyed listening to the rhythmic creak of the timbers and the soft splashing of the oars as the warship ploughed its relentless furrow through the waves.
Edwin barely heard the opening of the door of the aft cabin, but was conscious of shadowy figures moving around on the after deck. It was the master of the vessel and he could also make out the hated figure of John de Thetwich, cousin of the King. Any feeling of peace left him. The feeling of rage and injustice rose up again and the fierce determination to be avenged.
He attempted to calm himself by recalling the circumstances that had led to meeting Matilda. He was a carpenter, taught by his father in their tiny workshop within the outer bailey of the castle at Framlingham. He had heard of the great fleet of ships being gathered and trained by King Edward in the nearby estuaries and when orders came for carpenters to accompany the huge timbers that had been felled in the nearby forest, to be taken to the shipyards, Edwin was desperate to go. A group of men from Framlingham were to go under the supervision of Peter of Dunwich, a skilled carpenter who had worked for twenty years for Thomas Brotherton, the late Earl Marshall of Norfolk.
Edwin’s parents were reluctant to let him go.
“Why are you so restless boy?” his mother demanded. “There is plenty of work for you here at the castle. You father grows old and his eyesight is failing. We need you here”
“It is but a day’s journey away,” reasoned Edwin, “and I shall only be gone for as long as it takes to make ready the fleet. The king is anxious to get his archers to Flanders as quickly as may be. I shall be home again before you know it.”
Eventually they were persuaded and Edwin bade goodbye to his parents and to his young brother James.
“Tell me about the sea and the king’s ships when you get back,” begged his brother, “and don’t get in the way of any arrows.”
Edwin ruffled the young boy’s hair fondly.
“I’ll make sure I duck if any are coming my way and you make sure that you look after mother and father for me.”
The huge baulks of timber were loaded onto wooden carts and pulled by teams of horses through the rutted lanes and by-ways as far as the river crossing at Wilford. Here the timber was lashed together on the banks until several large rafts were assembled, which were carefully pushed into the river at high tide.
The journey downstream felt like an escape to Edwin. As he and Peter helped to manoeuvre their raft between the shifting shoals and mudflats he gazed at the fields of barley and the meadows which bordered the widening river and smelled with excitement the sea air, as they approached the mouth of the Deben. As they neared landfall he marvelled at the hive of activity at the King’s shipyards. He could see at least twenty ships lashed to posts for repair and could hear the pounding of hammers and the shouted instructions of the foremen to the labourers as they swarmed over the wooden skeletons.
Once tied up safely at the wooden jetty at Goseford, the timber was manhandled ashore. Round about, were piles of wood and other materials used for the repairs. Edwin would live here in one of the shacks with the other hired men.
But first he knew, he had to present himself at the Hall. Edwin knew that Lady Alice Brotherton was now in charge at the manor house, since the death of her husband last year. He also knew that she insisted on personally meeting anyone who was in the employ of the manor.
“Come on lad,” called Peter. “If we are to be there and back afore nightfall we must be leaving now. Her ladyship will not want to be kept waiting by a mere boy.”
As they walked along the foreshore Edwin could see a building on the cliff top ahead of them.
“Is that the Manor?” he asked.
“Nay lad. That’s all that’s left of the castle built by the Romans when they were the masters here. It doesn’t look much now does it? Not since King Henry took most of the stone to build his castles at Orford and Framlingham.”
Edwin and Peter walked in companionable silence along the track that led inland from the castle ruins. It was as they passed the tall tower of the Church of St.Peter and St. Paul, that Edwin caught his first glance of the cluster of stone buildings that were Walton Hall.
AP 06/05
I should be
grateful for any comments from scribblers.
Historical novel
The wind was sighing through the rigging and the large square sail buffeted and filled, carrying the huge vessel across the silvery sea. Edwin tugged his cloak tightly around himself, and leaning on the starboard rail, gazed into the darkness. The moon had risen and was reflected in the water, its image changing and distorting in the swell, which ran under the wooden hull. Edwin wondered if Matilda could see this same moon and whether she thought of him. Soon they would complete their crossing of the great northern ocean and then there could be no time for such reverie. He wondered if he would ever return. Did he dare hope that eventually he might return to the gentle lands of Suffolk.
The sky had cleared and the stars shone brightly, their brilliance dimmed only occasionally when light spilled from the fo’c’s’l as the curtain slung from the fore deck swung gently in the breeze. No lights shone on the sides of the vessel that would inform the enemy of their position. He could hear the sounds of muted voices. Men were playing cards. Gambling with the few groats that they had left from the final evening's visit to the local tavern. Only a few of the sixty oarsmen were in position. Their oars were muffled so as not to alert the enemy of their approach. By the light of the moon, Edwin could see the other ships in the fleet, which had set out twenty-four hours earlier from the estuaries of the Deben and the Orwell.
Soon they would be in sight of the coast of Flanders and perhaps catch a first glance of the French Fleet, but at this moment all seemed so peaceful. Most of the archers were asleep, huddled in their cloaks on the deck and clutching their longbows to their chests, even as they slumbered. There would be little opportunity for rest soon enough. As he looked over his shoulder Edwin could see the steersman, a burly giant of a man, carefully holding the ship on course. Edwin had never sailed on a ship of this size before and he enjoyed listening to the rhythmic creak of the timbers and the soft splashing of the oars as the warship ploughed its relentless furrow through the waves.
Edwin barely heard the opening of the door of the aft cabin, but was conscious of shadowy figures moving around on the after deck. It was the master of the vessel and he could also make out the hated figure of John de Thetwich, cousin of the King. Any feeling of peace left him. The feeling of rage and injustice rose up again and the fierce determination to be avenged.
He attempted to calm himself by recalling the circumstances that had led to meeting Matilda. He was a carpenter, taught by his father in their tiny workshop within the outer bailey of the castle at Framlingham. He had heard of the great fleet of ships being gathered and trained by King Edward in the nearby estuaries and when orders came for carpenters to accompany the huge timbers that had been felled in the nearby forest, to be taken to the shipyards, Edwin was desperate to go. A group of men from Framlingham were to go under the supervision of Peter of Dunwich, a skilled carpenter who had worked for twenty years for Thomas Brotherton, the late Earl Marshall of Norfolk.
Edwin’s parents were reluctant to let him go.
“Why are you so restless boy?” his mother demanded. “There is plenty of work for you here at the castle. You father grows old and his eyesight is failing. We need you here”
“It is but a day’s journey away,” reasoned Edwin, “and I shall only be gone for as long as it takes to make ready the fleet. The king is anxious to get his archers to Flanders as quickly as may be. I shall be home again before you know it.”
Eventually they were persuaded and Edwin bade goodbye to his parents and to his young brother James.
“Tell me about the sea and the king’s ships when you get back,” begged his brother, “and don’t get in the way of any arrows.”
Edwin ruffled the young boy’s hair fondly.
“I’ll make sure I duck if any are coming my way and you make sure that you look after mother and father for me.”
The huge baulks of timber were loaded onto wooden carts and pulled by teams of horses through the rutted lanes and by-ways as far as the river crossing at Wilford. Here the timber was lashed together on the banks until several large rafts were assembled, which were carefully pushed into the river at high tide.
The journey downstream felt like an escape to Edwin. As he and Peter helped to manoeuvre their raft between the shifting shoals and mudflats he gazed at the fields of barley and the meadows which bordered the widening river and smelled with excitement the sea air, as they approached the mouth of the Deben. As they neared landfall he marvelled at the hive of activity at the King’s shipyards. He could see at least twenty ships lashed to posts for repair and could hear the pounding of hammers and the shouted instructions of the foremen to the labourers as they swarmed over the wooden skeletons.
Once tied up safely at the wooden jetty at Goseford, the timber was manhandled ashore. Round about, were piles of wood and other materials used for the repairs. Edwin would live here in one of the shacks with the other hired men.
But first he knew, he had to present himself at the Hall. Edwin knew that Lady Alice Brotherton was now in charge at the manor house, since the death of her husband last year. He also knew that she insisted on personally meeting anyone who was in the employ of the manor.
“Come on lad,” called Peter. “If we are to be there and back afore nightfall we must be leaving now. Her ladyship will not want to be kept waiting by a mere boy.”
As they walked along the foreshore Edwin could see a building on the cliff top ahead of them.
“Is that the Manor?” he asked.
“Nay lad. That’s all that’s left of the castle built by the Romans when they were the masters here. It doesn’t look much now does it? Not since King Henry took most of the stone to build his castles at Orford and Framlingham.”
Edwin and Peter walked in companionable silence along the track that led inland from the castle ruins. It was as they passed the tall tower of the Church of St.Peter and St. Paul, that Edwin caught his first glance of the cluster of stone buildings that were Walton Hall.
AP 06/05
posted by Felixstowe Scribblers and Permanent Link created at 6/09/2005 11:11:00 pm.
![[ Registered ]](http://www.diarist.net/registry/button.gif){kind=small}
2 Comments:
I was much swayed by the powerful evocation in your writing. It leaves one with a gentle and lulled sense of peace. I feel myself descending deep into the opening. Your talent and ability shine out from the flat screen. I wish to sail the rest of the way through...
I was very impressed by the quality and standard with your writing Ann. When you finish it, I'm sure an agent would snap it up. It could be a best seller in the local bookshops, theres so much other local crap around, I yearn for some prose that leaps literally off the page. Slow plodding mysteries I can't abide, but this, I'd buy a copy in a flash. I wish you much luck!
Post a Comment
<< Home